


Room for Two

by PeachesPoison



Series: City Love [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Drinking, Drugs, F/M, Gay Sex, M/M, Multi, Public Sex, Smut, Threesome, all the sex, dirty secrets, first time threesome, internships, new relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachesPoison/pseuds/PeachesPoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musichetta falls for Joly...who is already in a relationship.  Grantaire and Eponine find a few ways to occupy their summer together.  The golden trio does a summer semester in Europe, and the other Amis try to make the summer before their senior year of college as epic as possible.  Main pairing is Musichetta/Joly/Bossuet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 16

_When sky blue gets dark enough to see the colors of the city lights_  
 _A trail of ruby red and diamond white hits her like a sunrise_  
 _She comes and goes and comes and goes like no one can_

The end of a school year always had an interesting effect on college students.  The sense of freedom that automatically came with it lowered inhibitions and made everything seem a bit more exciting and meaningful than it actually was.  A simple get-together morphed into the gathering of the century, and a keg of cheap beer became the finest of beverages.  For most students, even those who had only a weekend before jobs, internships, or classes started again, it was the most liberating time of the year. 

For this reason, Courfeyrac rented out the top floor of the Corinth, his and his friends’ favorite bar, which was just a short walk from their college campus.  There was drama between Grantaire and Eponine, which Courfeyrac hoped was able to be resolved sooner rather than later.  The two had been together for the better part of the semester, before Grantaire drank himself sick and Eponine left him suddenly.  Courfeyrac liked them together, and although he was irritated with Eponine for leaving, he would do anything necessary to reunite her with Grantaire. 

So, Courfeyrac was sick of watching Grantaire stare vacantly at the screen of his phone, waiting almost pathetically for Eponine to show up or text him.  Fortunately for Grantaire, the word “pathetic” would never be used to describe him.  In this state, “tragic” was the word Combeferre chose to whisper to Enjolras in regards to their friend.  Courfeyrac left the party to call Jehan, Grantaire’s roommate, who was probably with Feuilly. 

Courfeyrac pushed past the small crowd of people, all of whom he knew, most of whom were his friends, and several of whom he had hooked up with.  “Boundaries” were a little blurry with him sometimes, and he inwardly groaned as a gaggle of attractive women passed him as he was going down the stairs.  He decided that they must be the friends Azelma invited.   

_Tonight she's out to lose herself and find a high on Peachtree Street  
From mixed drinks to techno beats it's always heavy into everything_

“Jehan, I just missed the chance to introduce myself to several fine young ladies, you’d better have a good explanation of where you are.  And that explanation had better include that you and Feuilly are dragging Eponine here, kicking and screaming if you have to.  Also, I’d like to watch if you have her tied up in any way,” said Courfeyrac in one hurried breath when Jehan picked up his phone. 

“You know, that would have sounded weird if, I don’t know, _anyone_ but you said that,” replied Jehan.  “But yes, we are bringing Eponine.”

\---

Inside, a different scenario was unfolding.  Enjolras looked like he was planning to murder Combeferre over what was undoubtedly a routine game of pool.  Grantaire looked like he was on the verge of tears, at a table with Bossuet, Joly, Bahorel, and Azelma.  The girl squealed as soon as she saw Musichetta and their other friends arrive, and jumped up from the table to greet them.

“Thanks for inviting us, ‘Zelma,” said Musichetta.  “This is bound to be better than anything else going on tonight; the freshmen are out of control all over campus.  I saw a girl puking in an alley on the way here.”

Azelma scrunched her nose in disgust.  “I figured as much, Bahorel isn’t even at his fraternity house with his brothers yet.  He says we can go back later when the freshmen have passed out.” 

_She comes and goes and comes and goes like no one can  
She comes and goes and no one knows she's slipping through my hands_

“Oh so you two are a ‘we’ again?” 

Azelma smiled.  “Yep, it’s like we were never apart, really.”

“Must be nice,” teased Musichetta, but inwardly, she was a little jealous.  She flagged down Fricassee, the bartender, and got herself a beer.  At the age of twenty-one, she had only been in one serious relationship.  It started sometime in high school and she broke it off with the guy a few months into college, when the distance highlighted just how little substance there was to their lackluster relationship. 

Musichetta leaned against the bar and sipped her beer, examining herself in the mirror behind the bottles on the bar.  Her family had Italian roots and continued every family tradition possible, including looks.  Her brown eyes matched her hair, and she carried herself in a way that sometimes was mistaken for arrogance.  Musichetta wasn’t pompous in the least bit, but it was easy to tell that she came from money her usually expensive tastes.  

_She's always buzzing just like neon  
Who knows how long she can go before she burns away_

She was lost in thought, idly wondering if she could find a summer fling that would be worth her while, when she turned abruptly from the bar in search of Azelma.  Bossuet, a man she knew only by sight but not by name, happened to cross her path at that exact moment, and she stumbled and spilled her nearly-full beer right down the back of his shirt. 

Bossuet jumped from the cold sensation, and Musichetta mentally cursed herself out.  “I’m so, so sorry,” she said, frantically grabbing a stack of napkins from the bar to help clean up the mess.  

He just sighed in a resigned way.  “It’s not a big deal.  This stuff happens.”  Musichetta was mortified as he mumbled something about having to catch his shift at work anyway, and he walked away as quickly as his legs could carry him.  She saw him shout something in the direction of a table of Azelma’s other friends, and he nearly knocked another one of them over near the stairs in his haste to exit. 

Azelma came up to the bar and hooked her arm around one of Musichetta’s.  “Come on, it’s alright.  His name’s Bossuet, and I’m surprised he didn’t get something spilled on him earlier in the night, to be honest.”

Musichetta frowned.  “He said something like that.  I still feel like an ass.  Guess I just blew my chance at getting any guy in this room to go out with me, huh?” 

Azelma shook her head.  “Really, don’t worry about it.  Come on, I’ll introduce you to some more of Bahorel’s friends, they’re really good guys.  I promise!”  Azelma had to half-drag Musichetta back to the table. 

Feuilly, Jehan and Courfeyrac were back from their escapade with Grantaire, and seated themselves at a table with Combeferre and Enjolras.   The latter two were leaving with Courfeyrac the next day for an eight week study abroad session; only Courfeyrac would plan to throw a rager the night before a red-eye flight.  Feuilly and Jehan listened to details of the trip wistfully.  They had managed to secure summer internships with a large publishing company nearby, but it paled in comparison to two months in Paris (especially since it looked like Grantaire was bailing on their internship). 

Marius and Cosette had joined Joly and Bahorel, and Azelma guided Musichetta into a vacant chair that used to seat Bossuet.  Bahorel was the only one of the friends that Musichetta really knew, because of his relationship with Azelma and the fact that he and Musichetta were both physical therapy majors.  There were plenty of other people about, especially friends of Bahorel and Azelma’s, and the end-of-year excitement was nearly tangible in the bar. 

Joly turned to Musichetta after introductions were made and she apologized for spilling her drink on Bossuet for the umpteenth time.  “Musichetta, please don’t worry.  We’re more embarrassed for him than anything, I swear,” he said with a grin.  He placed his hand on hers for a second in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture.  It caught Musichetta off guard when the contact sent a jolt of something like desire through her. 

“Have we met before?” she asked hurriedly.  “Sorry, I sound like a walking cliché tonight, but have we had class together?”  She ignored Bahorel snorting with laughter. 

“Maybe,” Joly responded.  “I’m pre-med biology, and so is Bossuet, actually.” 

“Oh.  Maybe we had some freshman classes together; I’m a physical therapy major.”

Bossuet didn’t return to the Corinth that night, opting to wait at home until it was time to go to his twelve-hour shift at the hospital.  St. Vincent Hospital was the hospital in the city affiliated with their university, and most of the students in the medical field had some sort of internship there as undergraduates.  Bossuet started college on a pre-law track, but after a semester, he made the radical switch to pre-med with Joly.  Somehow, the pair of them had been interns for several months and they counted it as a miracle that the hospital hadn’t simply burned down due to Bossuet’s bad luck yet. 

Joly and Musichetta simply clicked, and they passed their first night of summer vacation going drink for drink.  While Enjolras gave a slightly tipsy goodbye speech, (that he insisted everyone stop what they were doing to listen to) Joly suddenly became aware of Musichetta’s leg resting against his under the table.  `

_I can't be her angel now, you know it's not my place to hold her down  
And it's hard for me to take a stand when I would take her any way I can_

After everyone was drunk enough to start dancing, Musichetta wasn’t as surprised as she should have been when Joly’s hands found a place to rest snugly on her hips.  The loud music flooded their senses and lent a surreal touch to their end-of-year high.  When the group started to part ways for the night, she whispered into his ear, “Your place?” 

At this, Joly nodded.  His brain was scolding him, but the throbbing between his legs was in control.  He and Bossuet shared everything else they had with each other, and it wouldn’t be the first time one of them brought a woman back to their bed. 

“Good thing Grantaire wasn’t there, Eponine prob’ly would’ve had to carry him home,” Azelma slurred with a laugh.  Bahorel was more or less supporting her, though he was drunk himself. 

Joly was walking with Musichetta’s arms wrapped around one of his, and the two were in good spirits, as they had been since they started talking.  Their flirting had not gone unnoticed (although naturally they thought it had) and nobody stopped them when Joly volunteered to walk Musichetta home. 

“Now that we’re out of there, I really have to ask, is it still walking her home if you’re walking her to _your_ home?” Bahorel asked with an impish grin. 

Musichetta moved to give Bahorel a playful kick to the shin, but in her wedges, she tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and took Joly down with her instead.  The two of them lay on the sidewalk giggling for a minute before attempting to get up.

_She comes and goes and comes and goes like no one can  
She comes and goes and no one knows she's slipping through my hands_

“Do you think you have a concussion?  Are you hurt?” Joly asked Musichetta.  He cupped her cheek with his hand and gently turned her face toward his, to see if her eyes showed the telltale sign of a head injury. 

“I think I’m okay.  I don’t feel anything.  Well, that’s a lie, I actually feel-” Joly cut her off with a kiss.  By this time, Bahorel and Azelma had wandered about a block ahead of them, gone in their own little world. 

“That.  I felt that,” said Musichetta as she pulled away from Joly.  He returned her smile. 

“Let’s get out of the rain before we get sick.  My apartment isn’t far.”  Musichetta liked the sound of that.  Joly softly placed a kiss on her cheek. 

She wriggled her fingers through his, squeezing his hand impatiently.  Joly led her through the streets for just a few more minutes, before arriving at his building.  They barely got his front door locked behind him when Musichetta pressed herself to him and captured his mouth in a kiss. 

Joly slipped his hands through her hair, tugging gently while he kissed her back harshly.  Musichetta thought it had been far too long since she’d been with someone, and she groaned with anticipation as all the old sensations came back to her.

Feeling emboldened from the alcohol and deprived from intimacy, Musichetta pushed Joly to the nearest furniture, which happened to be his couch.  Following her lead, Joly sat on the couch, pulling her so that she was straddling him.  She continued to kiss him hungrily, and for a second she wondered if she was even good at kissing anymore.  So she decided to try something else she recalled that she used to be complimented on.

Musichetta moved her nimble hands down to Joly’s belt.  “Is it okay if I-”

“Definitely,” interrupted Joly.  “As long as you’re sure.”

Musichetta licked her lips and nodded, then removed his pants in a few quick motions.  She dropped to her knees on the old, worn carpet of the living room.  She tugged his legs so he was a little closer to the edge of the couch.  She tucked her long brown hair over her shoulder, took a breath, and then took Joly’s hard dick in her mouth.  He let out a soft moan and Musichetta felt her confidence soar, knowing she was giving him pleasure.  She took him in her mouth as deep as she could, working her tongue up and down his length.  After a minute, she withdrew her mouth and removed her hand from where it was gently holding his base.  As Joly sighed to protest the lack of her presence, she swiftly removed her top and bra, and leaned forward again.

This time, as Musichetta pleasured Joly with her mouth, and what he would later refer to as _that tongue_ , she purposefully let her firm nipples graze his thighs as she moved over him.  Her guess that this would further turn them both on was correct, and a few moments later she felt Joly dig his fingernails into the soft skin of her shoulders, where his hands had rested.  He came, softly breathing her name as she continued to work him through his orgasm. 

“Thank you,” said Joly almost shyly.  He smiled and stood, pulling Musichetta up with him.  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling confident in herself for the first time in a long while.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t have to thank me,” she giggled.  “Dork.”

He laughed and pulled her into his lap, giving her another kiss.  “I owe you for sure.”

“I’ll take some more alcohol, if you have it,” said Musichetta boldly.  Her haze was starting to wear off, and she wanted some more liquid courage.  Joly pulled his boxer briefs back on, and smoothed his polo shirt as if it mattered. 

“Anything for you,” said Joly shyly.  Something about the way he said it made Musichetta think he meant it.  He stood for a few seconds, drinking in the way her body looked in the moonlight that was streaming in through the window.  He took her by the hand and led her to the small kitchen.  She sat on the floor while Joly rummaged in the fridge. 

“You don’t wanna sit at the table?”

“This was closer,” said Musichetta, as if her choice of sitting on the floor, topless, was an obvious one.  So he shrugged and joined her, setting down a half-full bottle of tequila and a bowl of limes. 

“This is the only thing we have right now, I’m afraid.”

Musichetta assumed that ‘we’ referred to her and Joly.  “You keep lime wedges in the fridge?  Like I said, total dork,” she joked.  “But bonus points for the Jose gold, it’s my favorite tequila, actually.”

The two took shots until the room starting spinning again.  “So here’s the deal,” the girl slurred.  “I wanna fuck you, but you can’t make me leave after, okay?”

“I’m not sure if you’re serious or making a bad joke, but I would never,” insisted Joly.  He offered Musichetta his hand, and she gladly followed him to his bed.  It was nearer to dawn than dusk when the pair finally fell asleep. 

_She's always buzzing just like neon  
Who knows how long she can go before she burns away_


	2. Creep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musichetta deals with an awkward morning after, Grantaire and Eponine start on their summer adventure.

_When you were here before, couldn't look you in the eye_   
_You're just like an angel, your skin makes me cry_   
_You float like a feather in a beautiful world_   
_I wish I was special, you're so fucking special_

When Musichetta woke up the next morning, she remembered bits and pieces of the previous night.  It was snippets of flirting across a table at a bar, casually leaving their respective groups of friends, and falling (then kissing) on the walk to Joly’s place.  It was tearing each other’s clothes off in his living room; tequila shots on the floor of the kitchen; it was taking him right on the couch.  It was half-smoked cigarettes and smeared lipstick and just _lips_ everywhere. 

However, Musichetta wasn’t the type of woman to fuck and leave because she wasn’t the type to go home with just anyone.  Joly had been an exception for her, but she didn’t quite know why.   Musichetta was curled up on her side Joly was spooned up against her back-- although the mattress was more than large enough to accommodate them both.   She rubbed her eyes, and dark smudges of eyeshadow and mascara stuck to the backs of her hands.  She caught sight of herself in a mirror above a dresser, and she had to stifle a laugh so as not to wake up the man beside her.  _I should probably go scrape this damn makeup off and tame this hair if I don’t want to scare him off,_ she thought.  _I need to find water, aspirin…and mouthwash.  Definitely mouthwash._    
  
Musichetta slipped out of bed and across the hall to where she thought the bathroom was.  She used her fingers to twist her long, dark hair into a messy bun.  She hummed to herself as she scrubbed the traces of makeup off of her hands and face, and smiled as she took in the small consequences of the previous evening.  Her lips were a little chapped and her knees burned where they’d scraped repeatedly against the living room rug.  It was when she was looking for mouthwash to rinse her mouth out that she saw _it_.  All the color drained from her complexion and her already dizzy head spun. 

In a simple, unassuming cup on the sink, there were two toothbrushes.  _I did_ not _hook up with a guy who already has a girlfriend_ , Musichetta groaned to herself.  She couldn’t remember Joly saying anything about a roommate, and she was irritated with Azelma for letting her go home with someone who was spoken for.  Across from the bathroom was Joly’s room.  Musichetta tiptoed down the hallway toward the only other door, which was closed.  She opened it quietly and looked around at what she decided must be an office or study area, confused at seeing two desks on either side of a large bookshelf. 

She scampered back down the hallway, looking for further evidence.  There were no photographs on the walls, and no women’s beauty products in the bathroom.  The small living room and kitchen offered no clues.  Musichetta leaned against the wall in the hallway, deciding exactly what to say to Joly. 

“Hey,” said Joly softly from his doorway. 

She jumped.  “Is everything okay?” she asked.  

Musichetta suddenly became aware that she was naked, and crossed her arms over her chest as if Joly hadn’t spent half the night with either his mouth or her hands on her breasts.  He at least had boxer-briefs on.  “Yeah…yeah I think so.  So this is the awkward morning after part, huh?” 

Joly smiled, and then tousled his light brown hair with one of his hands.  Musichetta bit her lip, and she couldn’t help but think about how cute it was when he did that.  It was one of his mannerisms she had catalogued after a night of staring at him from across the table.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” said Joly.  She gave him a shy smile in return, and walked past him into his room.  She found her jeans from the night before and put them on, and made a face when she picked up the tiny, revealing black tank top she had been wearing. 

“Here,” said Joly, throwing a t-shirt at her from a pile of laundry.  “That might make your walk of shame less awkward,” he teased. 

“Such a gentleman,” said Musichetta.  She boldly walked to him, t-shirt in hand, and kissed him.  She pressed her bare chest against his, and he sighed into her mouth.  Suddenly, she remembered what she had been searching for before Joly startled her.

“What’s wrong?” Joly asked as Musichetta pulled her chapped lips away from his. 

“Do you…have a girlfriend?”

“Excuse me?”

“I was looking for mouthwash-“she grimaced as she realized she never found said mouthwash and probably still had awful breath, “-and I saw two toothbrushes in your bathroom.  And then two desks.  And only one bed.”  A playful smile formed on Joly’s lips.  “Oh, God, I didn’t realize how creepy that sounded until just now, I’m sorry for being a snoop,” Musichetta apologized.  She hastily shrugged the t-shirt over her head, hoping he couldn’t tell how hard she was blushing. 

Joly seemed unperturbed, and he picked up both of her hands in his.  “Would you like some coffee? Breakfast?  I have to explain something to you…and _no_ I don’t have any STD’s or anything.”  Truth be told, that _was_ her first thought when he said he had something to explain. 

“About your girlfriend?  Sure,” she let Joly lead her into the kitchen.  She had been entranced by this man for 12 hours at this point. It wasn’t like her to flirt with strangers at the bar and to go home with them, and on those rare occasions, it was even less likely for her to stay past the light of dawn.  There was something about his demeanor; how it was shy and bold at the same time and his hands felt both protective and provocative.  

Musichetta sat at the table while Joly fixed coffee and put some bread in the toaster.  She admired the scratches she had raked down his back the night before as she wondered what this mysteriously charming man had to tell her. 

_But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo_   
_What the hell am I doing here?_   
_I don't belong here_

While Joly fixed breakfast, his heart thudded in his chest so hard that he wondered if Musichetta could hear it.  Bossuet wasn’t due back for hours, and Joly hadn’t had to explain this situation on his own before. 

“You know, I don’t often do this kind of thing,” Musichetta said apologetically.  She couldn’t bear silence and she had to say something.  “I’ve only been in one real relationship and that ended a couple years ago and I haven’t had very good luck in that department since then, and last night was nice and all but I can’t do this if you’ve got a girlfriend, and now I’m rambling.  Sorry,” she added. 

“I told you, it isn’t exactly like that,” Joly assured her.  He joined her at the table and handed her a cup of coffee.  “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

“I live here with my boyfriend.”

“ _Oh._ ”  Musichetta choked on her coffee.  “Well.  I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I figured.”

Musichetta really wished she had her phone with her so she could look anywhere other than Joly’s face.  She settled for staring into her coffee cup. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been used to facilitate cheating, either,” she said sharply.  Joly swore under his breath, a habit Musichetta thought seemed familiar from somewhere.  It clicked.  “You’re with the guy I spilled my drink on?”

“Bossuet…yes.  We’ve been together for a few years.  I’ve never had to explain this situation to someone before without him being here too.  I did not cheat on him with you and I’m sorry I haven’t explained that well.”

“So, what, you’re in an open relationship or something?”  Musichetta felt a gnawing sense of dread in her stomach.  The summer she hoped to finally find love had started with her finding herself as the punch line to a bawdy joke.  _When the hell did I become_ this _girl,_ she mentally shouted at herself. 

Joly winced at the phrasing.  “No, not really an open relationship.  But sometimes one of us will find a girl we really like, and all three of us…kind of…together.”

 _This isn’t fucking happening_.  Musichetta grew defensive; upset she had been so easily fooled by this man’s charm and wit.  And tongue.  “So you regularly participate in threesomes?”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m doing a shitty job explaining, I know.”  Joly took a deep breath and cleared his throat.  “Not _regularly_.  Just sometimes.  I love Bossuet, the whole ‘other half’ way and everything,” he said, his ears reddening. 

“You just bring a toy into bed sometimes, is all?”  Musichetta was past the point of defensive and moving directly to irate.  “So you flirted with me last night with the intent of using me to spice up your own sex life.  To hell with my feelings, right?  And your boyfriend doesn’t know we hooked up either so I’m calling bullshit on you saying you didn’t cheat on him.  This is straight out of a fucking _bad_ sitcom or something, I’m done,” she half-screamed at Joly. 

_I don't care if it hurts, I want to have control_   
_I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul_   
_I want you to notice when I'm not around_   
_You're so fucking special, I wish I was special_

Joly had not expected this conversation to be painless, but he had not prepared himself to feel like a nominee for Douchebag of the Year.  It was his turn to stare into his coffee cup, embarrassed and at a loss for words.  Musichetta stalked back to the bedroom and gathered her shoes and purse before storming out the front door of the building.

\---

Eponine and Grantaire had embarked on a haphazard road trip.  This trip was the brainchild of Azelma, who had figured that the best way for those two to really have a fresh start was away from their familiar, overlapping environments.   It was Eponine’s idea to fund the trip with money stolen from the amount her parents kept stashed in a mattress at home, and it had been up to Grantaire to pick a location. 

After their reconciliation, Eponine had started driving south from their university, which was located in western Pennsylvania.  They’d spent a few hours in the car that night, driving the boring turnpike.  Eponine finally decided to stop for the night at a hotel just off an exit, and they fell asleep spooned together in the cheap hotel room, watching an NCIS marathon.

The next morning, Grantaire woke up first.  He was on his side, pulling Eponine against him.  He smiled and kissed her cheek, happy to wake up with her instead of alone as he had for weeks upon weeks.  “Hey,” he said softly, trying to wake her without being harsh.

“Mmmh,” Eponine said in response.  “Morning.”  She buried her face in a pillow, and Grantaire knew this was the best response he would get from her for a few hours. 

Grantaire checked his phone.  “Oh, _fuck_.  Ponine, I think there’s a slight issue at home.”

In response, Eponine pulled the plush red comforter tighter around her head.

“I’m serious, I have a few missed calls from Joly.  I’m gonna call him, okay?”  Eponine mumbled her assent from under the comforter and a few flat pillows. 

Grantaire fiddled with the hem of his undershirt as he waited for Joly to pick up.  “What’s wrong, Joly?”

“I brought a girl home last night.”

“You and Lesgles?”

“No…just me.”

Grantaire ran a hand through his messy black curls.  “Well, fuck, Joly.  I don’t know what you want me to tell you.  What are you gonna tell him?”

“Goddamn it, I don’t know.  He was at work and she and I just clicked at that party at the Corinth.”

“And?”  Grantaire grew impatient.   He finally, finally woke up with Eponine and he didn’t want to ruin anything. 

“This girl, Musichetta.  I think I like her.  I think I fucked up.”  
  
 _But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo_  
 _What the hell am I doing here?_  
 _I don't belong here_

“I feel like we’ve had this conversation before, and it never works out when you two bring someone else into the mix.  Text me,” Grantaire offered in what he hoped was a hopeful manner.   He wasn’t about to screw up this road trip with Eponine, no matter what his friends got themselves into.

Joly sighed, and hung up his cell phone.  Bossuet, fresh off of his twelve-hour shift, walked through the door.

“The oncology wing was a _nightmare_ last night” he sighed.  His hair was matted and messy, and his entire body looked tired.  “Please tell me you at least had a good time,” he murmured to Joly, and sidled up beside him on the couch. 

Joly gulped.  He was sitting in the same spot he had the night before when Musichetta went down on him.  The thought gave him goosebumps, which reminded him why he was so nervous in the first place. 

“So, I brought a girl back last night,” said Joly cautiously.

“What?” asked Bossuet, confused.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I met this girl, Musichetta.  I really think she’s great, you’d love her.”

“I just got home from a twelve-hour shift from hell at the hospital, and you’re telling me you brought a woman back here, in our bed, without me?”

Joly paled.  “Do you remember a few weeks ago, Cosette came to us for relationship advice?  Obviously we are doing something right.”

Bossuet sighed.  “I can’t fucking do this right now.  Wake me up in a few hours.”  Defeated, he returned to their bedroom.   Joly buried his head in his lap. 

\--

“Everything okay?” said Eponine in a muffled voice through her blanket.

“I don’t know,” Grantaire admitted.  “I think Joly took one of your friends home or something.”

Eponine peeked out from under the covers, her dark eyes dim with sleep and her hair in a wild mane around her face.  “Maybe if there’s some other drama, everyone will shut the fuck up about us for a while, right?”

Grantaire laughed.  “Yeah, maybe so.  But we’re far too interesting; our names won’t stay out of their mouths for long.”

“This won’t stay out of my mouth for long,” said Eponine as she grabbed Grantaire’s dick through his boxers. 

“Oh really?” he challenged.  “I thought we agreed we were going to Virginia Beach.  That’s hours away, if you want to make it there today.”

“I do want to make it there today.  So you’re going to have to make up for lost time, sir,” she teased.  Eponine pulled Grantaire into bed with her, and crawled until she had positioned herself over him.  She liked feeling in control. 

_She's running out the door_   
_She's running out, she runs runs runs_   
_Whatever makes you happy, whatever you want_   
_You're so fucking special, I wish I was special_

Grantaire gladly let her tear his boxers off, and she greedily took him in her mouth.  “You fell asleep last night before we could do this,” she accused when she surfaced for breath.

“Mmm sorry,” mumbled Grantaire, as best he could with her wet lips around his throbbing dick. 

Eponine grabbed his balls as gently as she could, squeezing lightly with one hand while she steadied herself with her other hand on his thigh.  Grantaire’s one hand fisted in her hair; the other in the red comforter.  He felt himself getting closer to his release when his phone buzzed again.

Eponine’s eyes snapped open.  “Fuck that,” she said.  She reached over to the nightstand, where Grantaire laid his phone.  It was Feuilly.  He could wait.  Eponine tossed the phone across the room, and continued to work her boyfriend’s dick with her mouth until he came down her throat a few minutes later. 

_But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo_   
_What the hell am I doing here?_   
_I don't belong here_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by Creep by Radiohead, the previous chapter Neon by John Mayer. 
> 
> I apologize for the delay in updating, but it should be quicker now! Also this chapter is unbeta'd, and mine usually are, so I apologize for any mistakes.


	3. Dammit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musichetta deals with the fallout of hooking up with Joly. Grantaire and Eponine's rocky road is suddenly made even...rockier.

_It's alright to tell me what you think about me_   
_I won't try to argue or hold it against you_   
_I know that you're leaving, you must have your reasons_   
_The season is calling, your pictures are falling down_

The nice thing about attending a small university was that everyone knew everyone.  This familiarity was sometimes a bad thing, as Musichetta came to know all too well the day after her encounter with Joly.  It seemed to her that everyone knew her business, and she was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the awkward small talk and sideways glances directed at her.   

Musichetta was a physical therapy student along with Bahorel, who obviously knew about her hookup with Joly.  While his friends were, undeniably, awesome and fun to be around, they were also primarily guys.  Guys, especially college-aged ones, gossip far more than they would ever admit.  So, Musichetta had barely arrived at the hospital for her shift when she realized people _knew_.   By the time lunch rolled around, she was thankful to see Bahorel and Azelma, who was a nursing student, already sitting at their usual table in the spacious cafeteria.  Musichetta walked briskly to the table, carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone else.

“Hey, champ,” greeted Bahorel.  “So I heard you can really take a-“ he was cut off when Azelma elbowed him. 

“I’m sorry my boyfriend’s an insensitive twat,” she apologized. 

“It’s okay,” said Musichetta.  “You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” she assured Bahorel.  “I just feel so, so fucking stupid,” she lamented.  She tugged awkwardly at the top of her lilac-colored scrubs.  She usually hated how the plain, boxy tops obscured her figure but today she was glad for the coverage.  

“I’m sorry, Musichetta.  I honestly had no idea Joly would take you home without his other half,” apologized Azelma.  “I forgot Bossuet was here.”

Musichetta swirled her soup with her spoon without really intending on eating any of it.  “Drunk mistake, right?  I’ve honestly never felt like a slut before.  I feel so used.”

“I don’t believe for a second that Joly wanted you to feel that way,” said Bahorel.  “I would personally beat the shit out of him if he did, and I know he didn’t.”

“Have you talked to him since yesterday?” asked Azelma. 

“No,” admitted Musichetta.  “I don’t even know what to say.”  It was true.  She had plenty of things she wanted to say on her mind, but none of them seemed to come out right when she practiced in front of her mirror.  “I’m mortified.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, honestly,” said Bahorel.  “They have a really unconventional relationship.  It used to be cute how they do everything together like they’re stuck at the hip, but I don’t know how they don’t get sick of each other.  I think you should try to talk to Joly again.  Maybe try to see them together?”

A group of nurses walked by at this moment, and Musichetta felt that their eyes and whispers were on her.  “You really think so?” she asked.  “That seems weird.”

“You can’t even say you didn’t have a good time with him.  Am I wrong?”  wheedled Azelma. 

Musichetta’s cheeks burned as she thought of the scrapes on her knees and the bruised skin on her collarbone under her shirt.  “No, I really like…liked him.  I just didn’t realize he had a freaking boyfriend.  That changes everything, Azelma,” she affirmed. 

“Does it really?” questioned Azelma.  “Joly’s taken quite a liking to you.  When he cares for something, he gets really passionate about it.  Couldn’t you tell from the way he talked about his work or his studies?”

Musichetta dropped her spoon, having barely touched her soup.  “I missed the part where he talked about how much he cared about his boyfriend, then,” she said stubbornly.  “I’ll see you guys later,” she muttered.  She got up from the table and left. 

“I guess she has a point,” Bossuet said as he nuzzled his face playfully into Azelma’s neck. 

“I know,” sighed Azelma.  “I just hope she doesn’t write him off yet.”

\---

Several states away, Eponine and Grantaire were making good time on their drive to Virginia Beach.  They’d spent the previous night in a hotel, watching bad cable and polishing off a fifth of tequila and then some wine.  This was not the wisest combination. 

Now they were back on the road in the small two-door car they’d borrowed from Azelma.  “I feel like shit,” Grantaire mumbled.  Eponine just laughed and handed him the box of Tums he’d been nursing all morning. 

“Heartburn’s a bitch, isn’t it?” she joked.  “Maybe if you had shared the alcohol with me equally, you’d be feeling better.”

“Maybe.  Or, I just have heartburn because that’s the way I am,” responded Grantaire grumpily.  Eponine looked away from him, adjusting her oversized sunglasses in the passenger side mirror.  He missed her mouth the word “whatever” as she slid the seat as far back as it would go so that she could stretch out. 

Grantaire sighed and chewed a few of the antacids as quickly as he could, reaching for the lukewarm beer in Eponine’s cup holder to rinse the taste out.  If he had his way they would have stayed in bed until past noon, but Eponine wanted to get on the move to her aunt’s house at the beach. 

He stared at the road ahead of him for a while, noting that he would be on the same highway for nearly an hour.  Driving was not his favorite thing to do, but it was so easy for Eponine to manipulate him with a pout and a bat of her eyes.  Grantaire was struggling to stay awake, fighting his hangover.  He thought Eponine was also asleep on the passenger seat beside him. 

After almost an hour of this stupor, he noticed some movement from Eponine’s direction.  Grantaire thought she was just making herself comfortable as he saw her stretch out, her legs extended and parted.  Then he saw her slip her hand under the waistband of her denim shorts. 

“Everything okay over there?” asked Grantaire, in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. 

“Mhm,” said Eponine.  “I’m rubbing my clit through my undies.  They’re lacy and it feels pretty good.”

“ _Fucking hell,”_ whispered Grantaire.  The car swerved as he overcorrected, jerking the wheel so he was back on the highway.  He’d driven off the road a little at Eponine’s admission.  “You can’t do that while we’re driving on the highway,” he hissed. 

“I can do whatever I want while you’re driving,” said Eponine with a positively devilish smile.  “I can’t help that I’m bored and horny.”

Grantaire swore again, and he could feel his dick straining in his pants.  It was getting really difficult for him to drive.  Eponine, sunglasses still covering her eyes, moaned with pleasure.  “ _Fuck_ , this feels good, Grantaire.”  She paused, and looked in his direction.  “I think I’m going to move my fingers under my panties though.  Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?”

Grantaire made a strangled sort of grunt in his throat, desperately trying to pay attention to the road.  A minivan sped past him in the other lane, and he hoped they weren’t looking in the car.  “Eponine, has it occurred to you that someone could easily look in the car?  It’s afternoon for fuck’s sake.”

“What, you think someone’s going to call the cops on me?  Report a girl masturbating on the highway? _Please_ ,” she snorted.  “Oh, Grantaire, this feels so good.”  She arched up in the seat, and Grantaire could tell she was slipping a finger, probably two, inside herself.  She bobbed her fingers in a few times, moving to her own rhythm until she released a deep moan. 

With her other hand, Eponine pushed her sunglasses up on her head.  She looked at her boyfriend, and the lusty look in her eyes made his cock throb.  She closed her eyes, and pulled her fingers out to rub her clit again.  “ _Damn,_ this was a good idea,” she murmured. 

Grantaire cleared his throat again, and could feel a blush rising on his cheeks.  It was very difficult for him to look anywhere but at the woman on his right.  His eyes flicked to the rest of the beer Eponine had been drinking, and he swiftly drank the remainder.  “No drinking and driving,” Eponine whispered gently in between moans.  Those moans were coming faster now, and Grantaire seriously considered palming himself through his pants.  A quick glance at his phone told him he was still at least 45 minutes from the next highway change. 

Eponine’s fingers worked more and more quickly, and she scrunched up her face in a way that let Grantaire know she was close.  She was crying out now, her head turned to the side facing Grantaire, mumbling into her shoulder.  Grantaire tried not to look at the way her hips were rolling, the way she bucked under her own touch.  Her movements grew more frantic and desperate, until she came; moaning, in her own little world. 

“Fucking _fuck_ ,” said Grantaire.  This was torture for him.  He looked to his right and saw Eponine, grinding into her own hand.  Her pace slowed. 

“How much longer til we’re at the beach?” she asked, withdrawing her hand finally.  Grantaire sighed.  Then he saw the flash of blue and red lights in his rearview mirror.

\---

_The steps that I retrace, the sad look on your face_   
_The timing and structure - did you hear he fucked her?_   
_A day late, a buck short, I'm writing the report_   
_On losing and failing_   
_When I move, I'm flailing now_

Musichetta was really pissed off at herself.  Since she left her friends at lunch, the rest of her day really hadn’t gotten any better.  As she finally left the hospital at the end of her shift, she checked her phone for texts.  She hadn’t gotten very far when a guy, about her age, approached her on a bicycle. 

“Hey,” he called softly. 

“Not interested,” she sighed, keeping her face to her phone.  Getting catcalled was a frequent and irritating occurrence in town.  Sometimes she liked the attention, but Musichetta was not in the mood for these games today. 

“I’m Bossuet.” The tires of his bicycle squeaked to a stop.

Musichetta snapped her head up, and stopped walking.  “I’m so sorry,” she said quickly.  “I didn’t mean to be a bitch.”

“I know,” he said.  “I didn’t mean to come across as a creep.”  He smiled shyly, and Musichetta couldn’t help but warm up to him.  “Can we talk?”

Musichetta bit her lip.  A sense of dread had been gnawing at her all day, and it worsened.  It was that feeling she got when she was younger and had been called to the principal’s office, or caught doing something she shouldn’t by her parents.  “Of course,” she said, and dropped her phone into her bag. 

A group of students in scrubs walked past them, undoubtedly headed into the hospital for their shift.  Bossuet stepped off of his bike, and rolled it in the grass along the sidewalk as he walked beside Musichetta.  It was a warm, sunny day, and Musichetta squinted her eyes, wishing she had remembered her sunglasses.  The guilty feeling in her gut grew stronger, threatening to make her heave on the spot.

“I’m sorry, you know,” she said.  The words tumbled out of her mouth, short and fast like ripping off a band-aid.  “For spilling my drink on you…and sleeping with your boyfriend.” 

Bossuet hadn’t expected her apology to be so blunt and so honest.  He also hadn’t expected to run his bicycle tires over a bee’s nest in the ground, but the explosion of wasps around his legs pushed Musichetta’s apology to the back burner of his mind.

She was a few steps ahead of Bossuet, who stopped dead in his tracks when he felt the first couple stings.  Musichetta worried for a second when she realized he was no longer beside her, and she turned, expecting to see him looking disgusted or upset with her.  She quickly realized the look of horror on his face had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the small cloud of wasps around his body. 

Musichetta grabbed Bossuet’s arm, nearly tearing the plaid fabric of his rolled-up sleeve.  “Come _on_ ,” she pleaded.  He was doing a strange hop with each sting he received, still holding on to his bike with one hand.  “Run, drop the damn bike.  Let’s _go_ ,” she insisted, as he seemed to snap to his senses. 

They were a five-minute walk to Musichetta’s place, and, dragging Bossuet, she made it there in two.  The two students were panting when they made it to her door.  Bossuet tugged awkwardly on his cargo shorts, until another wasp fell out.  He promptly squished it under his sandal.  “I’ll clean that up,” he gasped. 

“You in pain yet?” asked Musichetta as she fumbled to open the door. 

“Yeah, I think my adrenaline’s wearing off a little bit.  My fucking _luck_.”  He shook his head. 

“Will you come in?” she asked.  “I’m sure someone from the hospital took your bike in.  You need taken care of.”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” said Bossuet with a wink. 

Musichetta pushed the door open and took his hand, leading him in.  “You’re awfully cheerful.”

“Musichetta, when you have luck like mine, you can’t afford to be anything other than cheerful.  I mean, just think, I saved someone else the trouble of finding out there was a wasp nest there.”  He sat right on the floor of her living room, grinning despite the pain he was undoubtedly feeling. 

“I guess so,” she smiled.  “Now, down to your boxers,” the brunette said in what she hoped was an authoritative manner.  It was easy for her to see why Joly and Bossuet were over the moon for each other.  Joly’s compassion, Bossuet’s selflessness-- and more charm between them than two men should be allowed. 

Musichetta disappeared to her bathroom, and returned with a wire basket.  “Torture devices?” teased Bossuet.  He sat in place in his boxers.  His skin had at least thirty welts, red and puffy.  Musichetta winced just looking at him. 

Still in her scrubs, unwashed and without sleep from her shift at the hospital, Musichetta began the painstaking labor of drawing the stingers out of the welts.  While she was working, Bossuet didn’t complain once.  “This isn’t what I pictured our first date to be like,” he said after a little while. 

Musichetta faltered.  “Date?”

“Yeah,” he said.  Her hands worked unfailingly, running a cotton ball soaked in something that felt like heaven on his sore skin. 

“Flip over,” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard him.  “I need to get your back.”

“I mean it.  I was going to ask you to get coffee or dinner or something.  A date.”  He obliged her directions and laid on his stomach, squeezing a pillow under his head. 

“Why?  I was expecting you to ream me out.  I’m a terrible person.”

“I don’t think so.  You didn’t know you were doing anything wrong.  Actually, I don’t even think anything _wrong_ happened.”

Musichetta paused her ministrations.  “I’m not trying to make this worse than it is, but I feel like Joly cheated on you with me.”  She saw Bossuet’s back raise and deflate again with a huge sigh.

“I did too, at first.  But the more we talked about it, I decided any woman Joly liked that much couldn’t be too horrible.”  She couldn’t see his face, but Musichetta could tell he was smiling. 

“What do you mean?”

Bossuet sat up to face her.  His lips were plush, fuller than Joly’s.  His eyes radiated the same gentleness that Joly’s had.  His face was inches from hers.  “I just mean,” he said carefully, “that I’m not upset.  I just wanted to try to get to know you.”

How a simple fling had turned into this, Musichetta couldn’t be sure.  “Thanks?” she said.

_And it's happened once again_   
_I'll turn to a friend_   
_Someone that understands_   
_Sees through the master plan_

Bossuet leaned in and kissed her, just for a second.  She pulled away first.  Her eyes searched his, begging for answers.  “If I kiss you, things are going to get weird.  More weird,” she said.  Her mind was careening wildlybetween _this isn’t me_ and _who I am hasn’t been working out so far_. 

“Things already are a little weird,” agreed Bossuet.  “Let’s pump the breaks, then.  How about I call Joly and see if he’ll meet up with us.  For a proper date.”

“Okay,” agreed Musichetta.  “What do we have to lose, right?”

\---

Grantaire pulled the borrowed Honda off to the side of the road.  Eponine swore and felt around the back seat until she found another lukewarm beer and opened it, taking a long drink.

“What the hell are you doing?” hissed Grantaire.  He scrambled for his wallet as the cop who pulled them over started walking to them. 

“Would you rather you get nailed for drinking and driving?” retorted Eponine.  Grantaire wasn’t really sure where she was going with this, but he nodded anyway. 

“License and registration please,” the officer said as soon as Grantaire rolled down his window.  Eponine fished in the glove box until she found the registration papers, and handed them to the officer.  The pair of them reeked of alcohol, and probably weed. 

The officer spent longer than necessary inspecting the papers and Grantaire’s license, and his face seemed to permanently house a smirk.  He was quite good-looking, with dark eyes and cherry-colored lips.  “I’ll need your license too, miss.”

“I beg your pardon, but I’m not the one driving.”

Grantaire wasn’t quite sure what rights they had, and he wasn’t in the mood to find out.  He grabbed Eponine’s purse and retrieved her license before she could protest.  She drank her beer again, clearly to provoke the officer further.  Something about him _really_ got under her skin.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

Grantaire ran a hand exasperatedly through his hair, letting out a sigh and shaking his head.  “No, sir.” 

“Would you care to explain to me why you were swerving all over the road?  Would a field sobriety test help you remember?”

Grantaire felt the color drain from his face.  This could _not_ be happening.  “I’m not drinking or drunk, sir,” he choked out.

“What about your slut of a girlfriend over there?  Was she sucking you off?” the cop smirked, nodding to Eponine in the passenger seat.  He threw their licenses back in the car at them. 

Seeing red, Grantaire threw the car door open, hitting the officer with it in the process.  He stepped out of the car, fuming.  “Oh, you want to hit me now?”  The cop laughed heartily.  “I was only asking out of concern.  I almost wrecked my car on my prom night ‘cause Eponine likes giving road head.”

Eponine flew out of the car, now, screaming at this man.  Grantaire suddenly felt nauseous.  He doubled over and emptied his stomach.  He stood up, dizzy and sick.  Through the haze in his head, he could hear the name Eponine was cursing out for the world to hear: _Montparnasse_.  

_But everybody's gone_   
_And you've been there for too long_   
_To face this on your own_   
_Well I guess this is growing up_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that it's been so long since my last update. Expect much more frequent updates now. Huge thanks to my beta reader over at FF, ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo.


End file.
